Hank cleared his throat, his painted face terrible to look upon. "h.e.l.l!"

he growled, squirming on his box. "Them as know ye, Tom Boyd, know ye ain't neither dog ner liar! Takes a good man ter stand what ye have, day arter day, feelin' like you do, an' keep from chokin' th' life outer him. We've all took his insults, swallered 'em whole without no salt; ye wouldn't say _all_ o' us war dogs an' liars, would ye? Tell ye what; we've been purty clost, you an' me--suppose I slip back from th'

Canadian an' git his ears fer ye? 'Twon't be no trouble, an' I won't be gone long. Reckon ye'd feel airy better then?"

Zeb moved forward on his cask. "That's you, Hank Marshall!" he exclaimed eagerly. "I'm with ye! He spit in my face two days ago, an' I want his ha'r. Good fer you, ol' beaver!"

For the next hour the argument waxed hot, one against three, and Armstrong had to come in and caution them twice. It was Jim Ogden who finally changed sides and settled the matter in Tom's favor.

"Hyar! We're nigh fightin' over a dog that ain't worth a cuss!" he exclaimed. "Mebby Tom will be comin' back ter Bent's afore winter sets in. Then we kin go ter Green River by th' way o' this town, stoppin'

hyar a day ter git Salezar's ears. Won't do Tom no good if us boys git th' skunk. If ye don't close yer traps, cussed if I won't go out an' git him now, an' then h.e.l.l sh.o.r.e will pop afore th' caravan gits away. Ain't ye got no sense, ye bloodthirsty Injuns?"

CHAPTER XXI

THE KIDNAPPING

Patience and her Mexican escort rode out of the town along the trail to Taos Valley, the road leading up the mountain and past her favorite retreat. She could not resist the cool of the morning hours and the temptation to pay one more visit to the little niche in the mountain side. The few farewell calls that she had to make could wait until the afternoon. They were duties rather than pleasures and the shorter she could make them the better she would like it. She pa.s.sed the mud houses of the soldiers and soon left the city behind. At intervals on the wretched road she met and smiled at the friendly muleteers and gave small coins to the toddling Mexican and Indian children before the wretched hovels scattered along the way. Well before noon she reached the little nook and unpacked the lunch she had brought along. Sharing it with her humble escort, who stubbornly insisted on taking his portion to one side and eating by himself, she spread her own lunch under her favorite tree and leisurely enjoyed it as she watched the mules pa.s.sing below her along the trail. This last view of the distant town and the mountain trail enchanted her and time slipped by with furtive speed. Far down on the road, if it could be called such, b.u.mped and slid a huge _carreta_ covered with a soiled canvas cover, its driver laboring with his four-mule team. The four had all they could do to draw the ma.s.sive cart along the rough trail and she smiled as she wondered how many mules it would take to pull the heavy vehicle if it were well loaded. She tried to picture it with the toiling caravan, and laughed aloud at the absurdity.

While she idly watched the _carreta_ and the little _atejo_ pa.s.sing it in the direction of the city, a flash far down the trail caught her eye and she made out a group of mounted soldiers trotting after an officer, whose scabbard dully flashed as it jerked and bobbed about. The _carreta_ was more than half way up the slope, seeming every moment to be threatened with destruction by the shaking it was receiving, when the soldiers overtook and pa.s.sed it. When the squad reached the short section of the trail immediately below her it met an _atejo_ of a dozen heavily-laden mules and the arrogant officer waved his sword and ordered them off the trail. Mules are deliberate and take their own good time, and they also have a natural reluctance to forsake a known and comparatively easy trail to climb over rocks under the towering packs.

Their owners tried to lead them aside, although there was plenty of room for the troops to pa.s.s, but the little beasts were stubborn and stuck to the trail.

Impatiently waiting for perhaps a full minute that his conceit might be pampered, the officer drew his sword again and peremptorily ordered the trail cleared for his pa.s.sing. The muleteers did their best, but it was not good enough for the puffed-up captain, and he spurred his horse against a f.a.ggot-burdened animal. The load swayed and then toppled, forcing the little burro to its knees and then over on its side, the tight girth gripping it as in a vise. The owner of the animal stepped quickly forward, a black scowl on his face. At his first word of protest the officer struck him on the head with the flat of the blade and broke into a torrent of curses and threats. The muleteer staggered back against a huge bowlder and bowed his head, his arms hanging limply at his sides. The officer considered a moment, laughed contemptuously and rode on, his rag-tag, wooden-faced squad following him closely.

As the soldiers pa.s.sed from his sight around a bend in the trail the muleteer leaned forward, hand on the knife in his belt, and stared malevolently at the rocks on the bend; and then hastened to help his two companions unpack the load of f.a.ggots and let the mule arise. The little animal did not get up. Both its front legs were broken by the rocky crevice into which they had been forced. The unfortunate Pueblo Indian knelt swiftly at the side of the little beast and pa.s.sed his hands along the slender legs. He shook his head sorrowfully and stroked the burro's flank. Suddenly leaping to his feet, knife in hand, he took two quick steps along the trail, but yielded to his clinging and frightened friends and dejectedly walked back to the suffering animal. For a moment he stood above it and then, changing his grip on the knife, leaned quickly over.

Patience had seen the whole tragedy and her eyes were br.i.m.m.i.n.g with tears. As the muleteer bent forward she turned away, sobbing. The throaty muttering of her guide brought him back to her mind and she called him to her.

"Sanchez!" she exclaimed, taking a purse from her bosom. "Take this money to him. It will buy him another burro."

The Mexican's teeth flashed like pearls and he nodded eagerly. In a moment he was clambering down the rocky mountain side and reached the trail as the noisy _carreta_ lumbered past the waiting _atejo_. He need not have hastened, for each mule had seized upon the stop as a valuable moment for resting and was lying down under its load. Here was work for the angry muleteers, for every animal must be unloaded, kicked to its feet and loaded anew.

Sanchez slid down the last rocky wall, flung up his arms and showed the two gold pieces, making a flamboyant speech as he alternately faced the wondering muleteer and turned to bow to the slender figure outlined against the somber greens of the mountain nook. Handing over the money, he slapped the Indian's shoulder, whirled swiftly and clambered back the way he had come.

The Indian seemed dazed at his unexpected good fortune, staring at the money in his hand. He glanced up toward the mountain niche, raised a hand to his forelock, and then pushed swiftly back from his eager, curious, crowding friends. They talked together at top speed and for the moment forgot all about the mules they had so laboriously re-packed; and when they looked behind them they found they had their work to do over again. Again the fortunate muleteer looked up, his hand slowly rising to repeat his thanks; and became a statue in bronze. He saw the ragged troops seize his benefactress and leap for the guide. Sanchez was no coward and he knew what loyalty meant and demanded. He fought like a wild beast until the crash of a pistol in the hands of the officer sent him staggering on bending legs, back, back, back. Reaching the edge of the niche he toppled backward, his quivering arms behind him to break his fall; and plunged and rolled down the rocky slope until stopped by a stunted tree, where he hung like a bag of meal.

Patience's strength, multiplied by terror, availed her nothing and soon, bound, gagged and wrapped up in blankets, she was carried to the trail and placed in the _carreta_ which, its canvas cover again tightly drawn, quickly began its jolting way down the trail. As it and its escort pa.s.sed the _atejo_, now being re-packed, the officer scowled about him for a sight of the impudent muleteer, but could not see him.

Salezar stopped his horse: "Where is that Pueblo dog?" he demanded.

"He is so frightened he is running all the way home," answered a muleteer. "He has left us to do his work for him! Are we slaves that we must serve him? Wait till we see him, Senor Capitan! Just you wait!" He looked at his companion, who nodded sourly. "Always he is like that, Senor Capitan."

Salezar questioned them closely about what they had seen, and found that they had been so busy with the accursed mules that they had had no time for anything else.

"See that you speak the truth!" he threatened. "There is a gringo woman missing from Santa Fe and we are seeking her. Her gringo friends are enemies of the Governor, and those who help them also are his enemies.

Then you have not seen this woman?"

"The more gringos that are missing the louder we will sing. We have not seen her, Senor Capitan. We will take care that we do not see her."

"Did you hear any shooting, then?"

"If I did it would be that frightened Pablo, shooting at his shadow. He is like that, Pablo is."

"Listen well!" warned Salezar, his beady eyes aglint. "There are two kinds of men who do not speak; the wise ones, and the ones who have no tongues!" He made a significant gesture in front of his mouth, glared down at the two muleteers and, wheeling, dashed down the trail to overtake the _carreta_, where he gloated aloud that his prisoner might hear, and know where she was going, and why.

The two Pueblos listened until the hoofbeats sounded well down the trail and then scrambled up the mountain side like goats, reaching the little nook as Pablo dragged the seriously wounded Mexican over the edge. They worked over him quickly, silently, listening to his broken, infrequent mutterings and after bandaging him as best they could they put him on a blanket and carried him to the trail and along it until they reached an Indian hovel, where they left him in care of a squaw. Returning to the _atejo_ they had to repack every mule, but they worked feverishly and the work was soon done and the little train plodded on down the trail.

At the foot of the mountain Pablo said something to his companions, left the trail and soon was lost to their sight.

Meanwhile the _carreta_, after a journey which was a torture, mentally and physically, to its helpless occupant, reached the town and rumbled up to Salezar's house, sc.r.a.ped through the narrow roadway between the house and the building next door and stopped in the windowless, high-walled courtyard. Three soldiers quickly carried a blanket-swathed burden into the house while the others loafed around the entrance to the driveway to guard against spying eyes. In a few moments the captain came out, briskly rubbing his hands, gave a curt order regarding alertness and rode away in the direction of the _palacio_, already a colonel in his stimulated imagination. This had been a great day in the fortunes of Captain Salezar and he was eager for his reward.

The sentry at the door of the _palacio_ saluted, told him that he was waited for and urgently wanted, and then stood at attention. Salezar stroked his chin, chuckled, and swaggered through the portal. Ten minutes later he emerged, walking on air and impatient for the coming of darkness, when his task soon would be finished and his promotion a.s.sured.

And while the captain paced the floor of his quarters at the barracks and dreamed dreams, an honest, courageous, and loyal Mexican was fighting against death in a little hovel on the mountain side; and a Pueblo Indian, stimulated by a queer and jumbled mixture of rage, grat.i.tude, revenge, and pity, was making his slow way, with infinite caution, through the cover north of town. Sanchez in his babbling had mentioned the caravan, a gringo name, and the urgent need for a warning to be carried. Salezar's name the Pueblo already knew far too well, and hated as he hated nothing else on earth. The mud-walled _pueblos_ of the Valley of Taos were regarded by Salezar as rabbit-warrens full of women, provided by Providence that his hunting might be good.

CHAPTER XXII

"LOS TEJANOS!"

The encampment of the returning caravan was in a little pasture well outside the town and it was the scene of bustling activity. Its personnel was different from either of the two trains from the Missouri frontier, for it was made up of traders and travelers from both of the earlier, west-bound caravans. Some of the first and second wagon trains had gone on to El Paso and Chihuahua, a handful of venturesome travelers were to try for the Pacific coast, and others of the first two trains had elected to remain in the New Mexican capital. While in the two west-bound caravans there had been many Mexicans, their number now was negligible. But this returning train was larger than either of the other two, carried much less freight, a large amount of specie, and would drive a large herd of mules across the prairies for sale in the Missouri settlements, which would fan the fires of Indian avarice all along the trail.

Uncle Joe and his brother had been busy all day doing their own work, catching up odds and ends of their Santa Fe connections, and helping friends get ready for the long trip, and they had not given much thought to Patience, whom they believed to be saying her farewells to friends she had made in the city. As the afternoon pa.s.sed and she and her escort had not appeared, Uncle Joe became a little uneasy; and as the shadows began to reach farther and farther from the wagons he mounted his horse and rode back to Santa Fe to find and join her. It was nearly dark when he galloped back to the encampment and sought his brother, hoping that Patience had made her way to the wagons while he had sought for her in town. He knew that she had not called on any of her friends and that she must have stolen a last ride through the environs of the town. The two men were frankly frightened and hurriedly made the rounds of the wagons and then started for the city. It was dark by then and as they rode by the last camp-fire of the encampment, four villainous Indians loomed up in the light of the little blaze and Uncle Joe recognized them instantly. He drew up quickly.

"Have you seen Patience?" he cried, an agony of fear in his voice. "We can't find her anywhere!"

The Indians motioned for him to go on and they followed him and his brother. When a few score paces from the fire they stopped and consulted, hungrily fingering the locks of their heavy rifles. While they were sketching a plan a Pueblo Indian, following the trail to the camp like a speeding shadow, came up to them and blurted out his fragmentary tale in a mixture of Spanish and Indian.

"Salezar stole white woman on mountain. Put her in _carreta_ and went back to Santa Fe. Tell these people, that her friends will know.

Salezar, the son of a pig, stole her on the mountain." He burst into a torrent of words unintelligible and open and shut his hands as he raved.

Finally in reply to their hot, close questioning he told all he knew, his answers interspersed with stark curses for Salezar and pity and anxiety for the angel senorita. His words bore the undeniable stamp of sincerity, fitted in with what the anxious group feared, and he was triply bound by the gold pieces crowded into his hands. After another conference, not pointless now, a plan was hurriedly agreed upon and the several parts well studied. The Pueblo was given a commission and loaned a horse, and after repeating what he was to do, shot away into the darkness. Uncle Joe and his brother grudgingly accepted their parts, after Tom had shown them they could help in no other way, and turned back into the encampment, where their hot and eager efforts met with prompt help from their closest friends. Alonzo Webb and Enoch Birdsall, mounted, led four horses out of the west side of the camp and melted into the darkness; several hundred yards from the wagons they turned the led horses over to four maddened Indians and followed them through the night, to enter Santa Fe from the south. Not far behind them a cavalcade rode along the same route, grim and silent. At the little corral where the _atejo_ had put up the Indians got the horses which Turley had loaned them, shook hands with the two traders and listened as the caravan's horses were led off toward the camp.

Armstrong answered the knocks on his door and admitted the Delaware, listened in amazement to the brief, tense statement of fact, strongly endorsed Tom's plans, and eagerly accepted his own part. His caller slipped out, the door closed, and the sounds of walking horses faded out down the street. A few moments later, Armstrong, rifle in hand, slipped out of the house and ran southward.

Captain Salezar, sitting at ease in his adobe house, poured himself another drink of _aguardiente_ and rolled another corn-husk cigarette.

Lighting it from the candle he fell to pacing to and fro across the small room. As the raw, potent liquor stimulated his imagination he began to bow to imaginary persons, give orders to officers, and to introduce himself as Colonel Salezar. From the barracks across the corner of the square an occasional burst of laughter rang out, but these were becoming more infrequent and less loud. He heard the grounding gun-b.u.t.t of the sentry outside his door as the soldier paused before wheeling to retrace his steps over the beat.

The sentry paced along the narrow driveway and stopped at the outer corner of the house to cast an envious glance across at the barracks where he knew that his friends were engaged in a furtive game of _monte_, which had started before he had gone on duty not a quarter of an hour before. He turned slowly to pace back again and then suddenly threw up his arms as his world became black. His falling firelock was caught as it left his hands, and soon lay at the side of its gagged and trussed owner in the blackness along the base of a driveway wall. Two figures slipped toward the courtyard to the rear of the house and one of them, taking the rifle of his companion, stopped at the corner of the wall at the driveway. The other slipped to the door, gently tried the latch and opened it, one hand hidden beneath the folds of a dirty blanket. The door swung silently open and shut and the intruder cast a swift glance around the room.

Captain Salezar grinned into the cracked mirror hanging on the wall, stiffened to attention, and saluted the image in the gla.s.s.

"Colonel Salezar's orders, sir," he declaimed and then, staring with unbelieving eyes at the apparition pushing out onto the mirror, crossed himself, whirled and drew his sword almost in one motion.

The Delaware cringed and pulled at a lock of hair straggling down past his eyes and held out a folded paper, swiftly placing a finger on his lips.